Nene Valley Rock Festival, Lincolnshire, England, UK: 5 to 8 September 2024

NVRF

Packing for the trip is always fraught with the agonising choice of which band T-shirts to wear, particularly for a festival hosting 56 from three distinct genres: prog, classic rock and blues. It always boils down to affiliation, wearing your fan's heart on your (admittedly short) sleeve, or neutrality (either a band not included in the line-up or a past festival). In my case, it was not quite as difficult as it often is, as I was the proud owner of a red Nene Valley Rock Festival emissary T-shirt with the full line-up plus QR codes for anyone who might be interested to scan with their smartphone. My partner and I had been assiduously handing out leaflets across Europe in the months leading up to the festival at various venues in various countries. Some 30 of us had volunteered to spread the word, our names very kindly included in the programme by way of thanks for our efforts.

This was the second festival, put on by fans for fans on a not-for-profit basis, any revenue above covering the costs ploughed into the following year's event. For lovers of costume dramas, the setting was superb, the backdrop Grimsthorpe Castle, where the most recent series of Bridgerton was filmed. The advantage of music lovers being in charge is that they are able to take a radically different approach, not only out of love for the music, but because, as seasoned festival-goers themselves, they could focus their efforts on creating the kind of event they had always dreamed of attending. This manifested itself in a meticulous attention to detail and openness to feedback. Ticket holders were not mere customers, but in many cases personal friends.

Grimsthorpe Castle (photo by Richard Croft, license CC BY-SA 2.0)

We relied on our satnav to guide us along the narrow winding roads (I saw my first passing place outside of Scotland on the way), having blithely ignored the wealth of information provided on the festival's Facebook page, which included helpful directions and maps. We ended up at the visitors' car park with no clue as to how to proceed. We were greeted by two lovely volunteer stewards ready to troubleshoot. At the second small white tent, we greeted one of the founders and organisers before continuing to the nerve centre of the operation, the stewards' tent. On all subsequent occasions, we used the correct entrance, through ornate wrought iron gates and up a long tree-lined drive with skittish deer scrutinising new arrivals from the undergrowth.

Having parked in the long grass by the lake, we walked to the main access point, showed our weekend tickets and received our green wristbands, two beakers (no glass was permitted) decorated with the festival logo, a swan, a heron and a kingfisher symbolising the three stages, and a photograph of the castle seen from the far side of the lake together with sponsors' logos. Tokens for alcoholic drinks (two per pint of beer) were on sale, while soft drinks could be purchased from the vendors. With a few minutes to spare before our first interview, I took the opportunity to walk around to get a feel for the site two hours before it opened to the public.

One of the selling points was that the quality of the experience would be given priority, with numbers restricted to one thousand per day. With the smell of freshly mown grass in my nostrils, and dragonflies darting expertly between the volunteers (who were easily identifiable in their yellow T-shirts), I soaked in the atmosphere and the wisdom of this policy decision became apparent. No matter how badly the rain might pelt down, there were never going to be enough feet to churn the field into a sea of mud à la Glastonbury and the queues would never become as overwhelming as on the Friday of the Final Night of the Prog at Loreley.

Two other details stick in my mind. T-shirts with festival logos and the full line-up were available for pre-order and pick up. Then the programme, glossy and attractively designed, with just the right amount of information. On the most important pages containing the timings on each stage over the four days, each band's name was in a colour-coded frame: green for prog, red for classic rock, blue for blues, yellow for folk and purple for the more difficult to categorise. This proved a very helpful instant guide for bands we were not familiar with. Moreover, much care had been taken to ensure as little overlap between performances as feasible. Although it would have required stamina, it would have been possible to sample every single set without the nagging feeling of having missed out. For me personally, the mix of genres on offer was very much a positive. Not only as it allowed me to listen to bands whose music I never would have encountered otherwise, but also because it made for a more relaxed four days compared to, for example, Loreley, where there was no respite and much anguish over who would be the "pizza band".

The marquees were sturdily built to withstand whatever the notorious British weather had to fling in their direction. Inside, the stages were high enough for the bands to be clearly visible no matter the vantage point, with the sound desks on a raised platform creating an island in the centre. Ample space had been set aside for seating, but there was also plenty of room to stand without gaining a deeper insight into what it must feel like to be a beleaguered rush-hour commuter on the Tokyo metro. As bands alternated between the Swan and Heron stages, turning your seat to face the other direction was all the effort required. For those who had not brought camping stools, picnic tables dotted the field, and we were always able to sit comfortably while sampling the food on offer.

Good catering can greatly enhance the experience of a festival and once again it was clear that a lot of care had been taken to accommodate differing dietary needs. Little Panjab's vegetarian and vegan options were delicious, as were Belle's Gluten-Free Cakes. Lily Beans Coffee was a veritable life-saver for a caffeine-fuelled reviewer (particularly after the insipid brew masquerading as coffee served in our hotel) and all of our friends lavished praise on the lamb burgers from Lavinton, each of which was meticulously temperature-controlled to ensure perfection.

A veritable cottage industry of photographers, videographers and reviewers has sprung up around festivals, complemented by the many fans who tirelessly upload to social media, spreading the word. Barriers blocked off an area in front of the stages reserved for the professional photographers and official videographers in possession of access-all-areas passes. They proved to be very considerate towards those who had laid claim to their spots at the front through tenaciously standing for prolonged periods (not always self-evident for the prog demographic at least).

From the Friday onwards, laminated "Reserved" signs indicated where the official camera operators would be, allowing audience members to steer clear of them and enjoy an unobstructed view. Whereas the sound quality was impeccable, the biggest disappointment for me was the lighting on the Kingfisher Stage, which was fine during daylight hours, but not optimal for videos or photography once darkness fell. This put the bands performing there, particularly the headliners, at a disadvantage, as they could not benefit from the valuable free publicity (with the added bonus of absolute and unfiltered authenticity) from their fan base to the same extent as those in the main marquee. Ironically, the only videos I took which did not meet my rigorous quality standards were those I cared about most.

At 18.00 on the Sunday, the long-anticipated announcement was made: the festival would go ahead again in 2025! I can wholeheartedly recommend buying tickets. As a festival veteran, my rating for NVRF would be a 9.5 out of 10. If we break this down, from a customer's perspective, the organisation would merit a perfect 10, as would the friendly welcome from all the hard-working volunteers who so generously contributed their time and seemingly infinite supplies of patience and good cheer, as would the quality of the facilities provided on site (with the caveat that this does not encompass the campsite or glamping areas, as we stayed off-site). The atmosphere was also excellent, laid-back in the best sense. Everyone involved was eager to help and find solutions. I have already dealt with the one issue that slightly marred the overall experience (the lighting on the Kingfisher Stage, which can be remedied fairly easily, budgetary constraints permitting).

From a reviewer and podcaster's standpoint, a dedicated space for interviews and recording would have been the icing on the cake. A certain amount of background noise at a music festival is inevitable and can do much to convey the general buzz and excitement of the occasion. We very quickly realised that the stewards' tent was the hub of operations and are immensely grateful to the directors for allowing us access and for trusting us not to make a nuisance of ourselves. It had tables and chairs to sit around together with the bands who so kindly agreed to give us their time and was ideally situated for when they came off stage.

Nene Valley is a very welcome addition to the festival landscape, offering something a little different to tempt the die-hard progger out of their comfort zone musically, while remaining in the warm embrace of the prog community, of whom so many were in attendance. The final word of praise has to be dedicated to the festival-goers themselves, who treated the magnificent surroundings with care and respect. As a friend pointed out on Facebook, the older generation is often given bad press when it comes to caring about the environment, yet if you juxtapose images of the aftermath of the Reading Festival, with hundreds of tents simply abandoned as "someone else's problem" amidst piles of litter, with the equivalent photograph from the Grimsthorpe site, with a lone tent (which, I hasten to add, had not been abandoned, simply not taken down yet) with not a single crisp packet or plastic bottle to be seen, only the indents in the grass where other tents had been pitched, the difference in attitude becomes strikingly apparent.

Which brings us to the whole reason to attend the festival: the glorious line-up. With so many wonderful bands performing, it was never going to be possible to cover everything. That would have meant a review of unfeasible length, putting Tolstoy to shame. The selection was dictated by the busy schedule of interviews and the need to secure a spot at the front for the purposes of taking photos and videos.

Thursday's proceedings hit the ground running with The Welsh and Irish Experiences, prog represented by Tribe3 and Karnataka.

I cannot imagine a more perfect start to the festival than Tribe3. With every performance they become more confident and assured. Being the first to set foot on the main stage must be a daunting prospect, but no trace of nerves was in evidence. Quite the opposite, they drew on their vast experience of playing live (they have been an integral part of the Welsh prog scene for many years in a number of other bands) to deliver a magnificent set encompassing their eponymous debut album in its entirety.

Although they had to rely on a backing track for the drums, Jonathan having changed roles to become the vocalist, this did not detract from the overall sound. It put a premium on accuracy and attention to detail and what followed was flawless. The band recently announced that they have been joined by new drummer Greg Paulett, which will allow Jonathan to focus exclusively on his frontman role, in which he already excels.

Captivating the audience with their sumptuous melodic prog, Tribe3 delivered on every count: Jonathan's voice soared effortlessly into the higher range and the seamless transition from embodying a wrathful Mother Nature in Calm Before The Storm to the weary miner trudging homeward after an inhumanely long shift in Dawntreader revealed the impressive scope of his theatrical talents; Chris' guitar solos combined technical aplomb with heartrending pathos where required; and Stephen's keyboards, such a defining feature of their beautifully layered music, were a joy to listen to, expertly underpinned by his bass.

Of course, no Tribe3 set would be complete without a bit of banter — it may be prog but it is certainly not po-faced — between Stephen and Jonathan, which only served to highlight the bonds of friendship between them.

Roll on their next appearances at HRH Prog and Danfest and the new album, due out in early 2025!

Having already played 16 dates on their hugely successful Requiem For A Dream tour prior to the Nene Valley Rock Festival, every aspect of Karnataka's brilliant performance exuded quality. The album around which their set was centred is an absolute masterpiece with its powerful message about climate change, the fragility of the environment which sustains us and the pernicious wilfulness with which we are destroying it.

This is the juncture at which even superlatives founder. Sertari's charismatic stage presence and exquisite vocals send a frisson of pure elation through the audience. Rob Wilsher's ornate keys added richness and depth, crystalline and soaring, complemented by Jack Summerfield's nuanced drums always reflecting the mood of the given moment, by turns unobtrusive and restrained, then fiercely impassioned, yet always disciplined, in complete harmony with Ian Jones' highly accomplished bass, all building up to sweep the listener away on their magnificent epic soundscapes.

So to Luke Machin, whose guitar distills the very essence of Karnataka. Such an astounding talent may be refined through assiduous practice, but is innate. Adjectives such as "stunning" or "mind-blowing" seem bland and feebly inadequate to the task of describing it, so I will confine myself to one simple statement: If you have not seen his solo in Forsaken you have not truly lived.

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You can find the DPRP Podcast episode #2, the first part of the NVRF podcast series, with interviews with Tribe3 and Karnataka here:

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Based in The Lodge Arts Collective in Lockerbie, EBB pulsate with joyful energy whenever they take to the stage. Do not be deceived by their colourful costumes and meticulously choreographed and boundlessly entertaining show, these are no lightweights relying on spectacle, but brilliant musicians with serious songs exploring the human condition, sorrow and self-destructiveness. As a friend commented afterwards: "It is a sobering thought to realise that what you have been enjoying so much was born of damage".

Erin Bennett is the powerhouse behind the band, a formidable stage presence projecting confidence, passion and authority tempered by an underlying vulnerability, a mesmerising amalgam. She dazzles both on lead guitar and on vocals. However, each and every member of the band has a vital role to play, including the Cosmic Jester, the latest addition, whose interventions provide a narrative framing for the whole, enhancing its cohesiveness and flow. Prog would not be prog without theatricality and EBB reign supreme in this, with props ranging from soap bubbles through a floral hoop to fans, all deployed to perfection by the divine Kitty Biscuits (no other adjective does her justice).

You can always tell whether someone has seen EBB before during my personal favourite, Nieu, with its unexpected pause when Kitty Biscuits summons Jenny to bring her tea. A ripple of delighted laughter travels through the marquee at the sheer audacity of the interruption and in anticipation of what might come next. There was no bell for Kitty to ring, so she had to improvise. But this is Kitty and nothing puts her off her stride. Holding the invisible bell with her trademark haughty disdain, she imitated its sound, ever more insistently as she grew impatient. Then Jenny appeared in her maid's outfit with a miniature teapot, cup and saucer eliciting further laughter from the crowd. Jenny quakes nervously as Kitty samples the brew before planting a kiss on Kitty's cheek and exiting stage right. "Let me tell you about Jenny!" Kitty intones as the music resumes.

With their infectious, glossy yet gritty, and gloriously catchy prog melodies, EBB are quite rightly in the ascendant. They are never less than excellent, polished and consummately professional. Nobody can see EBB play live without being left with a smile on their face and a yearning for more.

Mother Black Cap's motto is "Putting the fun into prog" and I had been looking forward to seeing Norfolk's finest back in action after their excellent performances at HRH Prog and Danfest. They did not disappoint, treating the festival-goers who had assembled in the Kingfisher marquee to their highly appealing and enjoyable 1970s influenced gutsy prog interspersed with their unique brand of refreshing self-deprecating humour. Guitarist Martin Nico held up signs declaring: "Yes, we've got a bell, cos it's prog" as an ironic commentary on the genre's perceived pretentiousness. They have taken ownership of this typically British and slightly irreverent deflation of pomposity and transformed it into a hallmark of their stagecraft.

Nobody succeeds in encouraging audience participation better than Mother Black Cap, breaking down the barriers between stage and spectators in a joyous communion. True to their motto, whether indulging in some tongue-in-cheek flag-waving and swaying with banners emblazoned with "MBC" aloft (or, as my neighbour did, tying the banner around his forehead to use as an impromptu bandana), or singing along to the chorus of the final song in the set (nolite carborundorum to avoid an R-rating), we joined in with gusto.

Not that it is all frivolity and froth: my favourite song, English Way contains some serious commentary on the state of contemporary society and is regularly updated to maintain its relevance. Mother Black Cap very much deserve to be appreciated by a wider audience and I can wholeheartedly recommend taking the opportunity to see them play live.

Following a triumphant return to live performance at The Old Rectory, an unexpected last-minute cancellation meant that Credo were given the opportunity to play a slightly longer set than originally scheduled, to the obvious delight of their assembled fans. It struck the perfect balance between established classics such as Skintrade and hard-hitting new material, with Left or Right and Tell Me Why, both of which fit in seamlessly with the canon in terms of their perceptive and ascerbic commentary on the ills of contemporary society, while retaining a freshness and urgency musically. Judging by the rapturous reception on the part of the audience, the new album cannot be released soon enough.

What followed was a true masterclass, delivered with breathtaking precision and cohesiveness. It is scarcely conceivable that until a mere couple of weeks previously, several years had elapsed since Credo had last graced the stage together. Polished and assured, this was no hollow and bloodless display of technical virtuosity, but possessed of a raw viscerality matching the gut punch of the lyrics. I could feel the goosebumps at the emotive climax of Too Late...To Say Goodbye.

Far from poking at the smouldering embers of past glories, Credo continue to burn incandescent with undiminished passion, vitality and creative drive, their uncompromising commitment to melding beautiful melodies with searingly honest reflections on modern existence more relevant and powerful than ever.

Everyone's favourite pagan proggers Spriggan Mist were in fine fettle, also benefiting from the opportunity to play a slightly longer than planned set. Fay Brotherhood was on magnificent form, holding the rapt audience in the palm of her hand, weaving a spell to enchant us, whether wielding a pair of sheep skulls or striding authoritatively across the stage, completely at ease and in command of all who beheld her.

New drummer Ali Soueidan proved himself to be a true asset, striking the perfect balance between dynamism, nuance and power, his poise and precision greatly enhancing the overall sound. Everything cohered to perfection, with Neil's guitars, Baz's bass and, above all, Maxine's ever impressive solos effortlessly intertwining to add depth, complexity and richness to the catchy beat.

For those who are unfamiliar with Spriggan Mist and Ghost Of The Machine, a little context is required to understand the friendly shenanigans which livened up two already exuberant sets. A "feud" between the bands has been raging on social media, with Charlie Bramald representing the "Prog Standards Authority" staunchly opposed to dancing at prog gigs and Baz Cilia taking the opposite stance, on a mission to "sprigganise" audiences, enticing them to cavort unrestrained. In spite of all the posts superimposing Charlie's head on images of dancers and Baz's noggin on orcs, the reality is that both are each other's greatest supporters. When Charlie appeared in the audience to watch the Spriggs perform, he was sporting a new Spriggan Mist T-shirt. After a few moments of standing with a dour expression of disapproval, arms defensively folded, he could hold back his smile no longer. When Fay spotted him, she descended from the stage, grabbed him by the arm and attempted to "abduct" him. Just as they passed the barrier and he was imminently about to clamber onstage during Spriggan Dance, very appropriately, as the terpsichorean temptation would have been impossible to resist, he broke free and fled, a look of abject terror on his face, which was greeted with great hilarity by all present.

This was folk-infused prog at its best, a highly burnished and expertly executed performance of which Spriggan Mist can justifiably be very proud. As with EBB, the flambouyant costumes and set that radiates joyful energy should not distract from the veritable feast which is the music.

Together with Solstice, Ghost Of The Machine have just been signed by Progrock.com's Essentials, a resounding endorsement of the quality of their brilliant and darkly atmospheric debut Scissorgames. Their follow-up, Empires Must Fall, picks up on the storyline and in a set which, at under an hour, only permitted a tantalising glimpse into their musical universe, they nevertheless managed to include a new song, Panopticon, opening with glorious keyboards which set the tone, delivering everything you could wish for from a neo-prog classic while remaining totally fresh, assiduously avoiding the slightest hint of timeworn tropes. This only serves to place almost intolerable strain on any reserves of patience the listener might have had while waiting for the new album to be released.

It is difficult to imagine a more charismatic and engaging frontman than Charlie Bramald, whom I refer to as "my favourite superstar" with good reason. He is one of those performers where you know instinctively and beyond all doubt from the first occasion on which you see them in their fledgling days that they are doing what they were born to do and are destined for greatness. His authenticity, warmth and sincerity shine through. Unsurprisingly, his vocal talents are very much in demand, leading to collaborations with several other bands, including Age of Distraction, Nova Cascade and, together with Scott Owens, Shadows on Mercury. His infectious and playful enthusiasm beams out into the audience, banishing every care. Even when he dons his cloak to assume an air of malevolence we are not taken in by it: there is not one iota of malice in him to draw upon. As my neighbour commented: "He does his best to look menacing, but he can't. There is no evil in a cherub".

Although Charlie joked about his nemesis Baz accompanied by the Spriggs being in the audience, he was clearly delighted that they had reciprocated his support of earlier in the day.

This was a confident, highly accomplished set of utterly gorgeous melodic prog from a group of incredible musicians who may only have come together relatively recently, but whose output truly merits every ounce of the critical and fan acclaim which it has received.

(Photo by Bryan Taylor, used by kind permission)

Comedy Of Errors are quite simply the finest progressive rock band Scotland has ever produced. Their set was always going to be the highlight of the festival for me, although it proved bittersweet, as they absolutely should have been on the Swan Stage rather than relegated to the Kingfisher, even though headlining the latter. They also should have been given a longer set, as one hour for musicians of their stature and calibre was never going to be adequate. Moreover, the scheduling meant a slight overlap with the final act on the Swan Stage, which most likely tempted audience members to drift away before the end of the set. Compounding matters further, the inadequacies of the lighting hampered photography and videography (for filming in particular, this ratcheted up the frustration levels, as the sound quality was impeccable).

Four of their superb albums were represented in the set: Fanfare And Fantasy, House Of The Mind, Threnody For A Dead Queen and Disobey, providing a broad retrospective for the uninitiated and firm favourites for the stalwarts. Joe Cairney positively crackled with energy and intensity, the stage could barely contain him, his vocals, as always, majestic and spellbinding, imbued with a unique power and nuance. An unquantifiable magic courses through Comedy Of Errors, palpable whenever they play live. Each individual member is a master of their craft and yet the mere act of coming together produces an alchemy coalescing into something of unparallelled beauty and harmony.

Never was this expressed with greater clarity than in Threnody For A Dead Queen, my favourite song of all time (equal first with The Student Prince, Part Three: Foolcircle). Once again superlatives seem woefully inadequate. The shorter version reserved for live shows immediately pierces the heart with raw, unadulterated emotion, culminating in Mark Spalding's sublime and awe-inspiring guitar solo, which I dearly wish could be recorded as a bonus track on a future release if a full live album is not a realistic prospect.

Ever since I first heard it, I have always considered Going For A Song to be a flawless prog masterpiece, perfectly structured, each section seamlessly merging into the next in dynamic forward motion before coming round full circle. It is the track I always recommend as a starting point to those unfamiliar with Comedy Of Errors' music, as it is accessible and encapsulates what I perceive as its essence: breathtakingly beautiful melodies, formal rigour with no trace of sterility or self-indulgence, attention to detail without a single extraneous note, emotional depth, a lingering yet pervasive melancholy, experience elevated from the mundane through the prism of a poet's soul, all combining to offer a subtle and incisive exploration of the human condition filled with profound empathy, compassion and intelligence. Joe inhabited the song with every fibre of his being, delivering an utterly compelling performance.

Tachyon never ceases to fill me with pure joy, perhaps incongruously for a song about a hypothetical particle which travels faster than the speed of light (what could be proggier?) It is synonymous with my epiphany. When I first saw them play live in 2022, I knew 30 seconds in that Comedy Of Errors were the best band I had ever heard and nobody could ever hope to surpass them. With characteristic Scottish candour, I whispered into my partner's ear: "They are f**king brilliant!" Nothing has ever persuaded me otherwise.

Then the rousing finale, The Student Prince, Part One: When Will I See You Again? Joe invited those of us who knew the words to sing along. It did not take much prompting. At all of their gigs, I film everything except for the last song, where I throw myself into the music with all the untrammeled vigour and abandon of a frenzied Maenad. As ever, to the great delight of the crowd, Joe descended into our midst, spreading a warm glow of happiness as he sang the immortal line from the title, his trajectory only limited by the length of the microphone cable.

Yet again, Comedy Of Errors demonstrated why they remain pre-eminent, with their consummate professionalism, their total commitment to the music, the performance and to their fans, inspiring within us an elation tinged with the inevitable sadness that it was over far too soon. In Bruce's words after the show: "Leave them wanting more".

(Photo by Bryan Taylor, used by kind permission)

The story of Trilogy's long overdue and very welcome return to playing live is a heartwarming illustration of the positive power of the internet, as it resulted from fan-driven discussions on social media, making it clear that the appetite for their music had not waned since their days in the Marquee Club. They recently released Hidden Mysteries, gathering together their studio and demo recordings from 1983 and 1984, an absolute essential for any self-respecting prog collector's shelves.

This was muscular, propulsive yet melodic prog at its finest, steeped in the influence of Rush, yet uniquely its own, never merely derivative. I happily basked in the powerful waves of sound emanating from the stage, content to let the world recede for the duration.

Trilogy have just returned to the studio to begin recording new material, and we were truly privileged to hear DNA and Spanish Steps, both of which unmistakably bore the imprint of Trilogy's signature sound, without ever lapsing into a rehash of old themes. Both have upbeat and instantly pleasing melodies which embed themselves in the listener's mind, with a particularly stirring and memorable guitar solo from Paul in Spanish Steps. Worthy additions to an excellent body of work, these songs provide proof, if any were needed, that Trilogy have lost nothing of their freshness or creative vigour with the passing of the decades.

The musicianship in Trilogy is top-notch, it is astounding that such a rich and layered soundscape can be produced by a trio. Nik on drums, however, has to be singled out for special mention. He is a force of nature, indefatigable, displaying breathtaking bravura. This was a set which both looked back over a distinguished repertoire and ahead to a very promising future, concluding with my favourite, Arctic Life, to me their proggiest piece. The cheers and applause which followed were eloquent testimony to the warmth and appreciation with which Trilogy were rightfully received.

Solstice have been described as the most joyful band in prog, an assessment with which it is impossible to disagree, to the extent that one of their current range of T-shirts bears the quote: "How much joy can you take?" I first encountered Solstice a couple of years ago and have made a point of attending as many performances by them as possible ever since, always craving another fix of vitamin J.

There is never a dull moment on stage, a riot of colour, dance and music awaits. It always feels entirely spontaneous and the positive energy emanating from the stage is reflected back from the smiling faces in the audience in an ever-intensifying and symbiotic feedback loop.

In the past couple of years, Solstice have played at a number of prestigious festivals not specifically devoted to prog. Some unkind remarks were made by certain less than impressed audience members, which were noted and have been transformed into slogans on a series of T-shirts. I love the way the band has taken ownership of these, taken the sting out of them and subverted them into a celebration of what their fans love about their music. My favourite is "Discordant female wailing". Of course, this is the proverbial load of old codswallop: with Jess Holland as lead vocalist, backed by Ebony Buckle and Dyane Crutcher, Solstice have truly come into their own.

Throughout an effervescent set, their folk-tinged prog never ceased to delight, Jenny Newman on violin putting life and mettle into the set with the irresistible Celtic strains of Mount Ephraim. A full sunburst of musical excellence from every member of the band, effortlessly shifting in pace and mood as required.

This was a performance which amply and memorably demonstrated why Solstice have received so much acclaim within prog circles. If ever a band deserved success beyond the confines of the genre, surely it would be Solstice, on the strength of their incredible repertoire of beautifully crafted songs and their sheer hard graft over the decades. The unflappable driving force behind the band, Andy Glass, the very personification of laid-backness, came down from the stage after the sound check to greet the peripatetic photographers who so lovingly and faithfully capture a record of each unique appearance. This small yet highly meaningful act of mutual appreciation and acknowledgement typifies Andy's attitude towards his fans and inspires such fierce loyalty among us. The sure and certain knowledge that no matter how big they may become, they will never forget their roots and will always have time for those who have supported them.

This was only the second occasion on which I have had the privilege of seeing prog legends Caravan perform live and it proved the perfect way to conclude four days of superlative music. Even with fatigue creeping in and having almost reached saturation point, this was a mellow and uplifting conclusion to the long weekend, permitting us to drift carward with a pleasant glow of satisfaction. I immersed myself in the selection of venerated classics as a "civilian" rather than a reviewer, acutely aware that there would be little I could add to the thousands of paragraphs of adulation which have accompanied Caravan's long and illustrious career.

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And yes, we have invested in super early bird tickets for next year.